


First One

by LittleSweetCheeks



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Gen, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26794489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSweetCheeks/pseuds/LittleSweetCheeks
Summary: Prompt- Elizabeth's first panic attack happens somewhere else other than the Seventh Floor.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	First One

Swimming. It feels like she’s swimming in a sea of disjointed sounds. The band playing in the corner is far too loud and she wants to cover her ears to block them out, but she can’t. Not without causing a scene. She tries to hum softly in the back of her throat, just enough to counter the onslaught, but that doesn’t help either.

They’re at a diplomatic dinner overseas and she’s meant to be presenting the calm stability of the US.

She tries to take a breath, and then another. The humming becomes a staccato of small sounds between sharps breaths.

Someone unfamiliar walks up and begins speaking to her, but she can’t work out what they’re saying, and she struggles to fake following along. The band is still too loud, the humming silenced now, but the short gasping breaths are all she can hear.

Bands begin to squeeze her chest and when she raises a hand to excuse herself, she can see it’s shaking. She fists them both, pulling them to her stomach so no one can see and then squares her shoulders. No one can know. No one can suspect that something is ever wrong.

Turning, she tries to find a familiar face, but finds no one. The shaking is working its way up her arms now, the sound leaving her head in a fog as her eyes race over the expanse of strangers. She wants out. Out of this room, out of this dress, out of her mind, but there’s no one around to save her from any of it.

Stumbling, Elizabeth weaves between tables toward a side exit. Once through, she presses a hand to her chest. It’s burning now, forcing her to breathe erratically. Something is wrong, very wrong, but she’s alone with no way to reach out. She has no phone, doesn’t see anyone at all now.

Down the hall, she finds another door and pushes. It gives and opens into a darkened room. It’s almost silent there and she stumbles in using her hands to find a place to land but there’s no furniture nearby. She sinks to the floor as tears begin to track down her face. She could die here, alone, and scared, and it’s a terrifying thought.

Another gasp and her body is shaking fully now as the room begins heating up. The dress is hot and heavy, but she can’t free herself from it. It becomes another thing she’s trying to fight against.

“Help me.” The words come out barely as a whisper and that only makes her cry harder. The ballroom was full of so many people. It could be hours before anyone notices she’s gone unless they intentionally went looking for her.

Screwing her eyes shut, she tries rocking. The rhythm blocks out other noise but doesn’t stop the pain or the shaking. The staccato humming starts again.

It feels like an eternity in the pitch black. Her mind is racing endlessly, but she becomes somehow aware that she can’t feel her lips or nose. She doesn’t hear her own gasps now, doesn’t hear the cacophony of noises filtering down the hall. All she can hear is the torturous sound of her heartbeat thumping wildly, whooshing in her ears. The shaking is almost convulsive, and her muscles begin to ache, but it won’t stop. Won’t end. Somehow the humming still continues, she can feel it in the back of her throat.

In her periphery, she’s only mildly aware that the room becomes lit by a wedge of light from the hallway, broken only by shadows peering in. She squeezes her eyes even tighter; no one can see her like this. No one can ever know.

There is a voice speaking softly. She can’t make out the words or who it might belong to, but the wedge of light vanishes and with it, the strangled sob she’d been holding back. A hand touches her arm, surprising her, but she recoils violently, and it pulls away.

She tries the humming again. It doesn’t help, doesn’t ease the shaking or the tightness. Doesn’t fix the fuzzy feeling in her face or the rushing sound in her head.

Another wedge of light against her eyelids and then two voices speaking above her. She doesn’t want to hear them, so she hums louder. More light, and then she can feel only one person remains.

She’s trying to do it all- gasping, humming, crying, rocking- but the pressure keeps building.

She senses more than feels as the person sits beside her against the wall and then arms are wrapping around her, hauling her onto their lap and cradling her like a child. She fists her hands into what their wearing, clinging desperately against the waves of this drowning feeling.

One arm wraps around her, pulling her so they’re almost chest to chest with her arms pinned between them. The other hand is on the back of her head. Both are tight and grounding and she realizes after several minutes she can hear their heart beating where her is pushed tight against them.

There is another sound though and her mind takes a long time to clear before she can work out what it is.

She’s shaking still and sweating, and her face is still fuzzy, but she understands somewhere in her mind that the person holding her tight is singing to her. It’s soft and low and she can feel it through their chest.

More minutes pass and she starts to become aware that it’s different songs they are singing, one after another, but all in that same slow beat that starts slowing her own breathing. She’s stopped humming to listen, to focus, and the sobs peter out though the ragged breathing lingers along with the tremors. The room is still too hot, but the urge to fight it begins to ease.

Whoever is holding her must feel the shift because the singing stops for a moment until she fists their clothing harder. They seem to understand and begin again.

Curled in their arms, her breathing finally evens out as the last bands ease around her chest. She’s not even aware she’s drifted off to sleep.

=MS=

She feels hungover. Her skull is pounding and her muscles ache all over and her stomach is rolling. She inhales sharply and bites back the bile rising in her throat only to realize she’s still in someone arms, still being cradled. She tries to fight their hold. “I need to- I’m going to be sick.”

The room is still black, and the person says nothing. They only release one arm and then something is being pressed into her hands and she’s gagging around the acidic burn of bile and little else. When her body seems done, she sags back against them and feels the container being moved away before a cool bottle of water is pressed into her hands. “Drink.” The person whispers. “Getting dehydrated will only make it worse.”

She realizes now who’s holding her. “How- how long?” How long has she been missing? How long has he been holding her? How long until it’s over?

“You slept about forty minutes.” Is what he offers. “When you’re ready, we’re leaving.”

“But the dinner-” She starts.

“Is handled.” He finishes.

She tries to sit upright, aware they’re still on the floor in the dark and she’s sitting in the space made from his crossed legs. “My head is killing me.” She admits.

The hand that was cradling her head is now on her back, the other finds her arm and rubs along her bare skin. “I know.”

“Who knows?”

She knows he’ll understand what she means, and he doesn’t disappoint in his answer. “Mat and Tim realized you had slipped away and pulled Nadine aside. She found you and then sent them to fetch me. None of the others know.”

“I don’t know what happened.”

The hand on her back rubs soothing circles. “You had a panic attack. It’s been a rough few weeks, don’t beat yourself up.”

She laughs humorlessly. “I fell apart during a diplomatic event. Not very professional.” Then again, it’s not very professional either to still be sitting in his lap.

“It’s fine.” He soothes.

“Thank you for-” Her breath catches and for a moment she fears starting the cycle all over again. “For coming. For staying with me.” She wishes she could see his face now, but the room is still dark. “I think I’m ready.”

“You’re still shaking.”

“I want out of this dress. I want my own room. I want to go home.”

“I know.” He shifts her off his lap and then stands and she can feel in the air as he straightens his clothes before taking her hands and standing her up. “Come here.” He pulls her into a hug and holds her close. “It will be okay.”

“When?” She asks it into his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

=MS=

The drive from the dinner to the hotel is made in silence. It isn’t lost on her that the only people in her vehicle are the ones who already know, save for Nadine who opted to ride with Jay.

Normally they sit on either side of the back, but she makes a choice to sit in the center and it’s calming when he pulls her close again. The vibration of the SUV tugs her eyes closed once again.

She knows they’ve overstepped simple professional boundaries. Since Iran, that line has been blurring already. As she drifts off, she hears his voice singing softly again. She didn’t even know he could sing. 


End file.
